3 Things not commonly known about Anthony Stark
by 4persephone
Summary: Just some short drabbles around a basic theme, and my means of trying to flush out a stubborn muse...


Title: 3 Things not commonly known about Anthony Edward Stark  
Author: 4persephone  
Rating: PG  
Summary: I'm breaking a rule of thumb since the muses have taken my head hostage. This is just 3 little drabbles that wouldn't go away...

_**1. He is allergic to practically every skin care product ever created...**_

Some days he really misses Pepper and her Aloe Vera cream. He's been trying most of the morning to not squirm, though without much success. The chairs in this particular boardroom are set a good two inches too low for him to sit comfortably, and the hand soap in the bathroom has already left his palms and forearms red and irritated from when he stopped to take a leak before the conference began.

The woman at the head of the table is wearing an immaculate brown linen suit. She's inordinately pleased with herself as she announces they've managed to cut their office supplies budget by half in the last two quarters.

Unfortunately they did so my eliminating 'unnecessary luxuries' like decent toilet paper and hand cream. Contrary to popular belief he isn't a hyperactive kid, he's just got a serious case of skin-peeling itch.

He's ready to take off - to walk out of this whole thing. Three hours of meaningless drivel would be enough to make any super genius twitchy. It's either that or he's going to pause this posturing contest for at least an hour while he finds a wet paper towel and welder to readjust his chair. He waits for the next pause in the ongoing conversation, but never gets a chance to call a halt to the proceedings...

Across the room the door cracks open and Pepper slips in with a cart of various 'rejuvenating snacks', and hands him an updated clipboard with a pale green tube of hand lotion clipped under the holder at the top.

_**2. He loathes tuna...well maybe he does...**_

"And what is this supposed to be?" He asks with a raised right eyebrow. The plate is covered with a pile of freshly sliced kiwi and old fashioned kettle style chips. He's been down in the workroom all morning without a break and it is only now...with the sharp tang of sourdough bread under his nose that his stomach begins to protest the neglect.

"A sandwich, sir." She says very simply. "You forgot to sign the approval for your grocery delivery again. I reordered and rushed delivery, but it won't arrive till supper time, and I was famished, so I improvised..."

"I loathe fish Potts. You know I loathe..." The sharp smell of citrus and Vidalia onion registers as he lifts the sandwich intending to hand it back.

"Wait a minute...do I smell lime? What in hell are you trying to feed me here?"

She rolls her eyes. "Strychnine sir. I was hoping the smell would be masked by the kiwi." He sniffs again, quirks an eyebrow.

Against his better judgment he takes a taste. The flavors that nearly explode across his palate make him want to groan. This sandwich is better than sex: so good he wants to say something really dirty. Three more bites and the whole thing is gone. He pops a slice of kiwi in his mouth and grins at her from the other side of his workbench.

"Too bad, Potts. Didn't appear to work. Go make another way to kill me."

_**3. He has a collection of antique books in the room he actually sleeps in most nights.**_

She doesn't as a rule invade this room in the house. He may not have a concept of personal space, but she does, and she tries to respect his. In five years she's been in this room twice - and once he was too sick to remember.

Still, one day she goes in a desperate attempt to locate that file he'd promised to sign a week and a half ago. There was a woman down in stores and acquisition that was threatening to string the entire company up from the rafters if she didn't get the final sign off on her inventory.

She's knows she shouldn't let herself dawdle, but what can be said; she has a weakness for expensive Italian shoes and Kipling.

Twenty minutes later he pages her from the basement only to get no answer. He climbs the stairs to find her standing shoeless on the carpet in his bedroom carefully paging through what was once his mother's favorite book. He quirks his head as he studies her for several long minutes...she doesn't notice, so enthralled by the words that she's reading to herself...

_"It is not learning, grace nor gear,_

_Nor easy meat and drink,_

_But bitter pinch of pain and fear_

_That makes creation think."_

He smiles and finally speaks. "If that's the case, Ms. Potts, we're definitely in the right business."


End file.
